


December 22 - 3 tipsy trolls

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Multi-Age, Other - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2005-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-22 21:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3744506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today's writing "mathom" is:</p><p>	three tipsy trolls</p><p>Write whatever you feel like – a drabble, a poem or a short story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Muse - by Agape4Gondor

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

The Muse  
  
"Hey, ho to the bottle I go,"  Oh no, Sam groaned aloud, wrong song, but kind of appropriate when writing about three tipsy trolls.  
  
Frodo laughed.  "What are you talking about?"  
  
"Bilbo's trolls.  I got to thinking about them this morning, while weeding the garden.  Some of those weeds needed a troll to pull them up.  Even with the new mining tools Gimli gave me, I still had trouble doing it."  
  
"What!  What about the soil Galadriel gave you?  Wouldn't it help keep the weeds away?"  
  
"No.  Weeds seem to love the stuff.  Everything seems to love the stuff.  I_m doomed."    
  
"Then why aren't you out in the garden?"  
  
"I told you.  I got thinking about the trolls and I had to write.  Something called a Muse keeps yelling at me.  Won't leave me alone, so I came in here and I intend to write until I'm finished.  But I've lost my thought and can't find it."  
  
"Trolls.  Well, you could write about when we found the stone ones."  
  
"No.  I wanted to write about live ones.  Ah!" he shrieked (most unusual for Sam), "I remember now.  'Troll sat alone on a seat of stone..'"  He smiled broadly.  "That's better!"  
  



	2. Different - by RiverOtter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's writing "mathom" is:

Different  
  
Bright crimson noses  
Caught by winter's bitter frost  
Three cold tipsy trolls  
  
Sampling crimson wine  
Three tipsy trolls staggering  
Curled up in a heap


	3. Old Menaces - by Gwynnyd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's writing "mathom" is:

Old Menaces  
  
One hundred and fifty years after Elessar's passing, trolls came out of the barrens again.  First it was a sheep killed, then a cow.  The attacks left the farmers fearful and the authorities grim.  When a caravan was attacked, messengers were sent off in haste to Rivendell.  No one living had ever faced such a menace from the black past.  Would they, could they help?  
  
Elladan exchanged a wolfish grin with his brother. It had been far too long since they had hunted anything but meat for the table.    
  
The next morning, the twins came out armoured and girt with newly sharpened swords.  Celeborn joined them, saying, "I, too, will hunt with my grandsons."  He added for the twin's ears alone, "You two need not hog all the fun.  The world is far too tame these days."  
  
The overjoyed messengers led the three elf lords to the edge of the thickly settled lands near the Trollshaws.  The signs of carnage were all too obvious; the half-eaten horse carcasses from the merchant caravan still gave nauseating witness to the latest attack, though the trolls had dragged the wagon off into the hills.  Even though it was approaching sunset, the two days old trail was clear to follow, and the three elves set off after the trolls, hoping to find them awake and in a fighting mood.    
  
They found the empty wagon near midnight, abandoned at the foot of an escarpment with a slope too steep to drag up the heavy vehicle.  The trolls had apparently shouldered the cargo and continued into the barrens.  After another hour of tracking, they came across an empty barrel, lying broken at the side of the road.  Elrohir sniffed appreciatively at the staves, before they continued deeper into the wilds.  
  
The trolls had stopped not much further on.  Examining the ground in the light of the gibbous moon revealed marks of three trolls, five barrels and a scuffle.  Two of the casks lay broken and empty. The trolls had each shouldered another cask and proceeded back to their lair.  
  
More cautiously now, the three trackers followed. Near dawn, there were signs that they were approaching the trolls' hiding place.  Bones and refuse littered the pathway.  Drawing their swords, they rushed around the corner into the clearing in front of the trolls' cave, ululating their war cries. And stopped.  
  
Elladan and Elrohir stood slack-jawed, their swords forgotten and points drooping downwards.  Celeborn, after the first frozen moment, laughed until his knees were weak and his weight was only supported by his sword.  
  
The three trolls stood at tipsy angles, legs splayed for balance, tuns of fine wine still held overhead, with stains, dark in the starlight, running from their mouths and down their stone fronts.  
  
"Was it a contest that they all lost at sunrise?" Elrohir inquired at last.  
  
"All that good wine is wasted," Elladan complained.  
  
"The world has changed indeed.  Do you think we can still claim a victory feast from the villagers?" Celeborn asked.  
  



End file.
